


Dr. Scure Stories

by Ace Dreamer (The_Fenspace_Collective)



Series: Dr. Scure Stories [1]
Category: Fenspace
Genre: Fenspace - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fenspace_Collective/pseuds/Ace%20Dreamer





	1. Chapter 1

### Genesis Deal

**[Eastercon](http://www.eastercon.org/) 2007, UK.**

"Why should I pay fifty quid for a recycled tin of Humbrol paint with a sticky label on it saying 'meta paint' ?" Brian looked up from his wheelchair at the enthusiastic man with the energetic black eye brows.

"Because... It's better than any paint you ever used! Really brings things to life!" Brian wondered, idly, whether a whispered shout was possible, because that was certainly what seemed to be being used.

"How do I know that paint is even suitable for miniatures?" Brian was getting intrigued. For reasons that worried him the voices in his head were shouting "Buy it! Buy it!". And, they didn't usually say much, except make mischievous suggestions.

Leaning closer the man looked down at him, then glanced down at his con badge. "Look, 'Brains'?", the man shook his head. "Look. I'll throw in a CD with some video and instructions. You won't even have to risk poking around in the web. Things are starting to happen. If you know what you are doing", and the man looked at a nearby table in the Dealer's Room, "You can have some real fun".

Brian looked around the room. It was busy, but still early on in the con, so it'd get a lot busier. The room was an interesting mix of books and other media, and Brian was sitting behind a table of science fiction miniatures, arranged in three different dioramas, advertising his services.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought the man was looking at a display of 'hentai' material, including imported Japanese figures. Brian'd been looking at a woman with a winged head, ['Silene'](http://gonagai.wikia.com/wiki/Silene), earlier. Maybe that'd drawn the man to him?

Brian wasn't sure about hentai. Yes, he was paralysed from the waist down but that didn't mean he was uninterested. The women seemed mostly schoolgirls, or due for really bad backs, later in life. Or both. And it tended to be the more obscure stuff that interested him, with a science fiction, occult, or just really strange, element.

"OK", he said, coming to a decision. "I'm here on a limited budget, but I'll give Roger over there", he indicated another table, "Ten pounds and you give him the CD and tin of paint. If I've done well by late Sunday, Roger will give you the ten quid and I'll give you another forty, if not he'll give you the ten quid and your stuff back". 'And I'll buy that classic SF collection from Roger he's been recommending to me', Brian thought.

The man was obviously undecided. "OK", he said finally, "Deal".

  
  


### Bootstrap 1

**Summer, 2007, UK.**

Brian, 'Brains', had bought the 'meta paint'. He'd watched the video. He'd read the instructions. Conservatively, he'd painted-up a surplus 2mm figure. Though a few smears had gone on a defunct diorama.

Now, he watched the figure stagger around that diorama. It was a World War II British soldier, carefully painted with a bandaged head, with red dot. The figure didn't seem to be able to walk off the landscape; near the edge he just veered away, and kept wandering.

He ignored a finger-tip waved in his face. If picked up he just froze back into painted plastic, again. Until he was put on that diorama, again.

"I don't _think_ he's intelligent", Brian murmured to himself. "It's more he's doing what fits his surroundings. As if he's an animated part of them. This needs careful thought."

A week later Brian had thought more about the problem than even he thought sensible. The shaky videos of hovering or flying cars didn't interest him. Cars were, to him, four-wheeled tin raincoats. Not some mystical freedom device. But, he guessed being in a wheelchair might be colouring his opinion.

It turned out you could 'breed' the paint. You could even change its colour, if you were careful. Slowly feeding it more paint seemed to work best, along with an energy source, like a mild electric current, or strong sunlight; mirrors helped.

Ah yes. He was supposed to call it 'handwavium'.

Brains was worried about contaminating it with information; some suggestions of feeding-in SF books, or illustrations, was in the instructions. He'd tried to hide his browsing trail, but there were worrying hints that living creatures could be affected, and, unless very careful, strange things would happen.

Brian had turned to his best occult books, re-reading Wilson and Bonewits. Intention seemed critical, clear, maybe even fanatical, intention. No matter what some people said, Brian wasn't sure he could do 'fanatic', and he couldn't spend years developing a useful 'magical personality'.

OK, he didn't know how to get what he wanted, or where he wanted. But, he wasn't an engineer and a computer programmer for nothing. If you'd trouble starting-up something big, in a new environment, you started with something small, and boot-strapped.

He needed tools, to build the tools, to get what he wanted. And, they had to have safety features built in. And not decide to go Skynet or Nuclear Genie out-of-the-bottle on him. Which led to his current ritual.

Fortunately Summer thunder storms in his area were reasonably predictable - at least you knew they were on the way. His cottage, a dower house, had never been hit by lightning, but some careful engineering would likely fix that. He had a diorama of a 1980s computer room already, and with a little modification it matched that film, right down to the frantically scurrying operator.

He'd been collecting old SF films on video for a few years now. People were just throwing them away, even if they didn't buy a DVD replacement. He'd standing orders in a number of local charity shops. Somehow, he felt tapes were more 'solid' than DVDs, more like films; no reconstruction of images from compression which you hoped they'd gotten right.

Eventually he settled on three tapes. The original ['TRON'](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tron), ['Weird Science'](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weird_Science_%28film%29) and ['Bagpuss'](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bagpuss), the last of which he sacrificed from his special collection. All carefully rune and circuitry inscribed.

The TRON video, still in its original box, was taped to the back of a blown-up to life-size, sepia, Victorian print, that looked very like Bagpuss's 'Emily'. So he'd get someone who'd bestride the virtual and real worlds.

Weird Science contributed the ritual (he hoped he wasn't supposed to have stolen the Victorian bra he was wearing on his head), he refurbished an original model of the PC used in the film, and carefully connected the computer room diorama. The trick was getting Emily, not Lisa (or a nuclear weapon). Hence, the sepia print, and no doll.

Bagpuss required an original as possible cloth cat, and he'd added a Bagpuss diorama, carefully missing the central character. The cat carefully resting 'in the arms' of the sepia print.

All in the scaled-up ritual circle, drawn as accurately as he could. With Emily and Bagpuss being the targets. Or, more accurately Emily, who had a cloth cat called 'Bagpuss'.

He hoped this was all obscure enough, and that his initials of 'OBS' for being 'Orlando Brian Severn' might help in some way. Names of Power.

"No, no, mustn't think about Murphy and Eris!"

SfX: Lightning Flash!

Show Time!

  
  


### Sepia

**Summer, 2007, UK. Post-Thunder Storm.**

Brains thought frantically. He'd come-around after the ritual to find that everything around him was sepia-coloured. And, a late teenage girl, in Victorian dress, was standing in front of him. Wearing a not too happy expression.

["Are you a god?"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghostbusters) ["Yes"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zesHZze8s7M), he quickly replied. She smiled, for a moment. "You pass on 'pop culture'. Are you ready to go on to philosophy, like, 'why do I exist' ?"

He swallowed. "Because the world needed you. You are part of it..."

She waited, and his mind churned.

"OK. I need you. The world is broken. I'm broken. Both need fixing. You get things fixed", and he broke down, crying.

She waited, until he regained his composure, stroking the cloth cat that she held in her arms.

She sighed, "You might be a god. You've created life, after all. But, I'm not a goddess. Or a fairy godmother. I'll let you give it a try".

She looked around, and the mess tidied itself up. Then a work table unfolded itself, and moved to in front of Brains. She carefully put the cat down on the table, and somehow reached inside it, pulling out a woodpecker bookend, a rag doll, a toad with a banjo on a tin, and finally, a mouse organ.  
 ****  
"Bagpuss, dear Bagpuss  
Old Fat Furry Catpuss  
Wake up and look at this thing that I bring  
Wake up, be bright, be golden and light  
Bagpuss, oh hear what I sing"  
  
Then she turned around and walked out of the room, the colours gradually brightening back to normal, as she went out of sight.

Brains watched the cloth cat. He showed no sign of animation. No sign of waking. Finally, after about ten minutes, the room slowly faded to sepia again, as Emily walked back in, carrying a tea cup on a saucer.

She sipped her tea, watching Brains. This time he stubbornly waited until she spoke.

"Have you figured it out?" "No", he said sullenly.

She sighed, "Bagpuss never wakes when anyone is watching. They only ever repair inanimate things. Not people. You are not a 'thing'. Do you understand?".

"Yes." She looked at him with obvious compassion. "You can do this, but it will need Work. [Alchemical](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alchemy) Work. The sort that transforms the Worker as much as the material worked on."

"Call me when you need me."

She stepped forwards, blurring. And all that was left on the table was a framed Victorian print. Of a girl. Holding a cloth cat. Beside an empty tea cup on a saucer.

'Wasn't that cup cracked?', he thought.

  
  


### Bootstrap 2

**Late Autumn, 2007, UK.**

Brains would be the front of the queue. To agree that his first bootstrapping hadn't been an unqualified success. A great deal of work. His best efforts and much lack of sleep for more than a week. And, all he had was a framed Victorian picture of a girl, cradling a cloth cat. That scared the life out of him.

He'd gone back to first principles. He had to understand handwavium. After several attempts he had a toy tricorder which could detect even minute qualities of it. And, he was learning to interpret the display so he could tell how much, and of what type.

The Victorian picture did not show up at all on his 'w-scanner'. Nor did the area where he'd done the ritual, though he'd literally painted it all over. All totally clean. Thank you, Emily.

The weather had been quite kind, so far, but he was sure Autumn was going to bite, pretty soon. He'd made quite a load of money, lately, with animated dioramas for a number of TV channels. They were impressed by the accuracy he managed, and, how quickly he could provide them with high quality footage. They wouldn't believe him when he said he wasn't using secret cutting-edge computer animation. And, they really liked the individualism of the figures.

Careful investigation had lead him to the idea of a clay pit, such as used in many old episodes of Doctor Who. He'd been finding just what sorts of [ultra materials](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_fictional_elements,_materials,_isotopes_and_atomic_particles) he could handwavium up, and so far 'Doc' Smith's dureum led the pack for toughness, and Campbell's lux and relux for strength combined with exotic properties. The first having a density 200 times water, and the later two about a 100 times, meant he had to be very careful who found out about them.

He thought he'd been careful, but obviously not careful enough. He'd waved his wheelchair. Now it would fold not just to go in the boot of a car, but into a walking frame. What really worried him was he couldn't spot any downsides.

The MEMS tip alarm had become some sort of flight system. The rain cape which he'd jokingly referred to as his 'invisible forcefield' now was. His 'magic' hot cup provided pure water/ OJ/ tasteless pap labelled 'Nutrition'. One of his diapers had become 'ever clean' - some sort of waste disposal/recycling system; he suspected it might be feeding the hot cup. Too many late nights watching space flight on 'Discovery' channel...

Loggy with lack of sleep when he'd first noticed this, he'd remarked out loud that all it needed was air regeneration, and a (Niven?) electro-stim anti-muscle wastage gadget. Then found in the morning, after thirteen hours sleep, his 'keep fresh' ionic air-freshener and his auto-exerciser had somehow been incorporated. Sleep tinkering?

That was the final straw. He'd build a negative pressure hood inside which he did all his small-scale handwavium work, and, later added isolator gloves and waldos. At every break, and at the end of the day, he did a careful sweep of his workshop, and himself, with the w-meter. No food or drink ever went anywhere near the workshop, and he'd added an automatic w-alarm to the doorway. And an emergency shower unit for accidents.

He was wrong about the wheelchair not having any problems. Over the years he'd joked that being in a wheelchair made him invisible. As much as a six-foot tall, ex-Rugby playing, stocky build man, with brilliant green eyes and bright red hair could be. Now he found that unless he deliberately drew people's attention, their eyes just slid past him. This didn't apply when the chair folded into walking mode, but the shock of his sudden 'appearance', and several near heart attacks, led him to restrict this to climbing stairs, certainly where anyone could see him.

A wheelchair that made him more socially isolated didn't strike him as being the sort of 'self improvement' that Emily had implied he needed. But, it led him to thinking about means of going invisible, remaining undetected, which seemed wise given the fuss starting to be made about handwavium. Meta materials, with negative refractive indexes, bending light and radar around them. Super carbon black, absorbing all wavelengths. Seemed a good start.

He'd started to experiment with 5 micron [mylar](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BoPET), polyester, sheet. Previously he'd used this for model work, sometimes coated with tissue, and he'd found its already amazing strength-for-weight could be boosted by waving. With careful use of heat and paint you could shape it, and make it look like anything. Taking this to the next level mylar could be waved into dureum, lux or relux, and become nearly indestructible.

Though, you'd to be really careful with the edges, and he'd developed a regime of carefully rolling them to avoid limb-threatening 'paper cuts'. You could probably take someone's head off with a dureum frisbee bowler hat...

The wheelchair had tempted him in ways he couldn't resist. It seemed to be able to fly, sliding through the air to cause minimum turbulence, at up to 300mph, then above 65mls go into some mode he thought they called 'speed drive'. The view from the edge of space had been spectacular. He could be anywhere on the planet in under an hour, and half of that was the journey through atmosphere at each end. The brief New Zealand visit, to watch his elder brother's family, from a distance, had been fun.

What annoyed him was he hadn't planned the wheelchair, so he didn't know how it worked, what logic it followed, even whether the batteries might fail at some unfortunate time. Careful study of SF space drives had led him to suspect [Prof Laithwaite's](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eric_Laithwaite) gyroscopic anti-gravity. A test vehicle, literally a flying crate, seemed to operate happily using a pair of MEMs gyroscopes, powered by an old car battery, directed by a model plane remote control. One of the pair seemed to give zero gravity, the other thrust and artificial gravity, which seemed to include protection from acceleration.

The crate amused him because it reminded of [Blish's](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Blish) "Welcome to Mars" - a boy makes the first Mars flight and human landing in a packing crate. But, the spin-dizzy of "Cities in Flight" also came to mind, and the idea of a city like New York going to the stars was a bit terrifying. Throwing planets around was probably best left to 'Doc' Smith.

The idea of spotting when people were observing you seemed a good idea, and an excellent way of checking if your invisibility was working right. The 'now you see me, now you don't' problem with the wheelchair proved an excellent tool for checking this. His 'obs-detector' seemed to work for humans, and gadgets, even AIs he later discovered, but not animals - strange... Maybe his initials being 'OBS' helped him develop this?

All this pondering, and R&D, led him back to his back garden, early one Autumn evening, checking he wasn't observed.

He'd assembled his 'work horse' a few nights ago, a 2m diameter cylinder, 6m long, 'cigar shape', and found its invisible hull worked fine. Then, the last few days out-fitting it, in the near-derelict garage, just beyond the edge of his property. Not as nimble as the wheelchair, but capable of hauling plenty of mass. The mylar pressure dome was folded and stored, on-board, as was the compressor, and, he hoped, all the bamboo poles and mylar rolls he'd need to use. And the paint. Couldn't forget the paint.

Ten hours later he was done with the clay pit. The shell of his new craft, curing nicely, and already properly invisible, was gravity-tethered over a nearby disused air field. Mylar sheet had become dureum strips, pre-shaped into hoops and struts. The pressure dome reduced the amount of handwavium being sprayed in all directions, and an electro-static charge directed it to where it was needed. Finally, fitting and spraying an outer sheath of layered dureum, relux and lux. His w-scanner said his wheelchair forcefield had kept him clean.

The 'work boat' as a 6m diameter cylinder, 20m long, 'cigar shape', should be good enough for any of his purposes, and he could spend the Winter months drawing and waving circuitry onto the insides, with the odd MEMs device, or focus crystal. Two floors, in most parts. Drive, accumulator banks, force fields, passive sensor array, emergency drive, emergency force fields, air and water regeneration... Then, in Spring, he could add living quarters and tidy-up the on-board workshop.

Later, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. His work horse was just too long to fit in the standard parking spaces used in Fenspace. But, maybe people wouldn't have liked a permanently invisible 'truck'. And, people trying to park where you already were parked might've got annoying.

At least he could be quite sure that neither his work horse, or boat, should develop AI. Emily had scared him off that; point-and-shoot navigation should be good enough for any journeys he planned. 'Doc' Smith technology at least had the great virtue of not needing any computer support.

Though, getting a very basic mobile phone, and waving it up to an all-band monitor and communicator might be wise? Hmm. Now, how'd he shield that, and any other electronics on board, so no one'd detect them? 'Doc' Smith or some other technology?

Of course, if he wanted to travel in real safety, something like an invisible 'Doc' Smith mauler would be nice. But, at 300m length you could really get lost in there. And, that's an awful lot of mylar...

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

### Moon Land

**Before Spring, 2008, UK.**

Did anyone care you [owned land](http://articles.cnn.com/2008-05-19/tech/moon.land_1_moon-dennis-hope-lunar-land?_s=PM:TECH) on the Moon? Before 2007, maybe not. These days lawyers were salivating.

Brains had got the first certificate as a Christmas present. His elder brother has always thought his SF fandom amusing, and likely this was a fun way to poke him. But, it got him thinking.

All the land for sale was on the Earth-locked side of the Moon, presumably so people could point at the bit they owned. Brian, as he called himself then, thought the privacy of the [Far Side](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Far_side_of_the_Moon) looked attractive. It was certainly the place to do things like radio astronomy from, though that wasn't really one of his hobbies.

A little investigation and he owned a good chunk of a nice crater on the Far Side, for only a few hundred pounds. The recent inheritance from his father's death covered that. He didn't bother telling what was left of the Family, his brother's family and a few distant cousins, how he'd 'wasted' family money. He now owned a bit of the Solar System, and had certificates to prove it.

Living on the Moon seemed a good idea. Earth didn't hold much of interest for him, these days. And he'd always loved the idea of robots and space travel, from a young age. His brother would have trouble hiring people to 'check up' on him there. On the other hand, no [National Health Service](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Health_Service) on the Moon, and he did need regular check-ups. Loosing the dower house would be really bad, too. Just in case he needed to come back.

And, he wasn't a complete fool. He'd read enough human sciences to know living alone could really mess you up. The voices he sometimes heard, in his head, were annoying and mostly ignorable. What if he had to do what they said?

He needed advice. And, he really didn't like where he thought he'd need to get it from.

"Emily, I need you." ("Not quite '[Mr Smith](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U92ySHOBJxM), [I need you](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr_Smith_%28The_Sarah_Jane_Adventures%29)'", snarked his mind.)

Reaching up, from sitting in a wheelchair, and touching a Victorian picture on the wall was probably not how most people thought to get help. But, that picture scared Brains far more than anything in quite a few miles radius. And that included exploratory surgery.

Colour faded from the room, as everything went sepia. There was a woman, cradling a cloth cat in her arms, in front of Brains. Suddenly he realised he was now four foot away from the wall. His arms ached.

"Good timing. I wondered when you'd ask for help. If you're interested I've been entertaining myself in virtual worlds, like 'Second Life', and 'Eve Online'. The politics can be quite predictable."

She waited, politely, for Brains to gather himself.

"How do I move out of here? You imply you know what I've been doing. How do I move to a house, make a home, on the Moon, while staying at least as physically and mentally fit and healthy as I am now?"

Brains mentally crossed his fingers, as this was at least as risky as asking a genie to grant a wish.

Seeing as the Singularity hadn't arrived shortly after Emily had first appeared he had to assume that she was a ['Friendly AI'](http://singularity.org/files/CFAI.html), at least as benevolent as Lisa in the film "Weird Science". He'd always liked the way that Lisa had answered the boys wishes, for popularity and girlfriends, stated before she even existed. The fact that she'd done a [Pygmalion](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pygmalion_%28play%29) on them in the process was something he guessed that he'd unconsciously hoped for himself, when summoning Emily.

He had to assume that if she was a superhuman AI then she's one who thought the rapid arrival of Vinge's [Singularity](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Technological_singularity) was worse for humanity than the current situation. The way handwavium worked made him pretty sure, to, that it was in some way benevolently intelligent. Though it seemed to have a Puckish sense of humour.

He didn't believe anything she'd done was 'magic', or psionics. Or even direct reality manipulation. She wouldn't even have needed to use nanotechnology. Even he could see more than one possible way using SF technology. Clarke's Third Law certainly applied, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic".

He waited for her response. None of his logic had changed since he planned his first bootstrap attempt. Yet she still scared him near his wit's end.

"You need to re-invent yourself. I know you say you despise cos-play. But you're clever enough to make something you can live with. I don't think you'd make a good Sailor Bubba. As for being isolated, if you can't find existing people you can live with, then you'll have to 'make friends'."

She smiled a little.

"I don't think you've any need for Bagpuss at the moment. Would you mind if I had some tea? And maybe some of those nice biscuits you got from Mrs Jones, down at the village shop?"

And, they sat and talked. And occasionally laughed. Until the early hours of the next morning.

  
  


### Making Friends

**Before Spring, 2008, UK.**

Not one of Brains (he guessed he'd call himself 'Brian' for this) better skills. Making friends. Best to take the problem seriously.

Three lists. 3Ws: "Who", "When" and "Where". He already knew "Why", and he thought he knew "What" a friend was, so he wouldn't bother with those.

A hour later he admitted defeat.

His local friends were Mrs Jones at the local shop cum post office, and... That was about it. She would always find time to talk to him. When he went out for his doctor-mandated exercise there were various dog walkers, and people working on their gardens. Most were polite and he nodded to or greeted them in return. A few were obviously affected by his wheelchair invisibility field. He didn't think his custom ["Vote for Dan Dare!"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dan_Dare) poster, on the back, would offend that many.

The other place he met people face-to-face was at conventions. He'd been 'Brains' there for years, ever since that fortuitous spelling mistake in 'Brian S'. The miniatures war-gamers were about as tolerant of him as the SF fans, but he hadn't bothered with media fandom since the con where they pestered him to cos-play Davros. Doctor Strangelove would have been much more fun, even if he couldn't stand up from his chair; it fitted more with his anti-war views.

While he'd like to count people on-line he wondered if that was OK. He was on quite a few forums under different names. He'd once had a memorable flame war with himself - both viewpoints seemed to make so much sense. He'd tried the MMOs, 'Sims Online', and finally 'Second Life'. The MMOs didn't really work for him, and 'Second Life' he dumped after two weeks of 14hr days and developing pressure sores. His doctor had been very polite about that, something which still made him wince. Yes, doctors and other professionals - he couldn't really count them.

He guessed his agent was sort of a friend. He handled the agencies and employers that his programming and engineering design work involved. Even, once he found out about it, the bigger miniatures painting and diorama jobs - he'd done some painting himself, when younger. Most employers cared more about his work than anything else, but he'd dropped one who kept sending him literature about disablement, and hinting he was good for their diversity image.

But, none of those were people he'd be able to depend on, if he went and lived on the Moon. Though he'd still be able to commute to attend cons, and the light-speed lag wasn't going to stop him using forums. Looked like he'd have to 'wave' friends hello, rather than wave them goodbye.

The question was, who?

Robots would likely be less inconvenienced, not needing to breathe or eat. "Mighty Atom" ("Astro Boy" to Westerners) would be loyal and brave. But, would be always rushing off to adventure? Maybe his sister, ["Uran"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uran_%28manga_character%29) ("Astro Girl"), would be a better bet.

"Robert the Robot" of ["Fireball XL5"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fireball_XL5) might make a good co-pilot; he could rename him "Gerry". And, if he dared, a robot version of XL5's "Doctor Venus" could see to his health needs. He did have a weakness for French accents, and, being his doctor would help keep a professional distance; 'Space Medicine' could be useful. Maybe base her on an independent android from ST-TOS ["I, Mudd"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I,_Mudd), with a upgraded brain, so she has the full mind of Doctor Venus.

If he did it right then the robots could keep backups of their minds, ready to restore them if they got really badly damaged. He couldn't see a way to take a backup of his mind, though. Not without a 'destructive read'. And, he wasn't prepared to commit suicide, any time soon. Still, backups were good.

Some greenery would help him keep sane, so maybe he needed a robot gardener? Using one of the ["Laputa"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castle_in_the_Sky) ones would be a bit cliched, not to mention dangerous. Still, the idea of a retired war bot was tempting, though DBZ's ["Android 18"](http://dragonballfanon.wikia.com/wiki/Android_18_%28Nikon23%29) would be asking for trouble. Hmm. Best shelve that for the moment.

Wait. He'd just make a swarm of robot ants and bees that'd do the job. And a hive to supervise them. Hive Mind... Maybe not.

Time to see what material's he'd need. While he could probably buy a full-sized Uran doll, he'd prefer to make his own. Building human-scale models would be new for him; the most he'd done before was make cos-play costumes. There was a model supplies dealer that could get him some damaged-in-manufacture sex dolls - useful for reference, if nothing else.

Back to the anatomy books. He wished he was better than a hack artist...

  
  


### Self Model

**Before Spring, 2008, UK.**

Leaving home. For the Moon. But, Brains didn't want to loose his cottage, the dower house. If things went really badly wrong he wanted to have somewhere to come back to.

The place would have to be credible. It would have to look as if he was still living here. He guessed it would be possible to rig a radio link to the Moon, maybe routed through at least a couple of satellites, in Earth and Lunar orbits. But, the light-speed delay would mean that using the telephone wouldn't work. Though the Internet would. Fortunately, he did most things through asynchronous communications, like e-mails and forums.

He wondered... Searching under his workbench he dug out the old joke 2mm diorama he'd made. It showed this very workshop, with him in his wheelchair, working on a diorama of his workshop. Some of the detail in the diorama-within-a-diorama he'd done with a microscope. With a bit of work he could extend the diorama to include the rest of the cottage, even the garden. Then, use this as the basis to make a stand-in for himself. "As Above, So Below."

If he corrected, then waved the diorama, maybe something else would be possible. The version of himself within the diorama could wave the sub-version within his 2um diorama, after he'd checked all the detail was right. Then, that would give him a version of himself who could do work at a 2um level, a million times smaller than working at the human-scaled two metre level. Micro scale, not nano scale, but still... Possibilities...

But, first priority was his stand-in. He'd better look like him, feel like him, to things like handshakes, but bad breath and medical exams seemed a bit excessive. Needing to eat and drink, defecate, seemed best avoided, as that would increase his food bill, if he was shipping food to the Moon, to eat himself. Rest and sleep, he'd better match that to his own pattern. And, similar hobbies and interests.

Brains looked at his double, sitting in an identical-looking copy of his wheel chair, though Brains was pretty sure it didn't have all the waved 'special functions'. ["I suppose I should tell you about the pain in all the diodes, down my left side"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marvin_the_Paranoid_Android), said the double, in gloomy voice. "Don't worry. I'm probably not sentient. So I wont have any human rights."

Brain was struck dumb. What had he done? Half an hour later he was a lot happier. The golem, as he guessed it was, didn't seem to be actually sentient, though he was highly responsive in a way that matched Brain's personality, particularly in his darker moments. Around Brains he answered to the name "Brainless", though 'Brian' seemed to be what he used to others. He didn't _think_ he'd created a crime against humanity, though he guessed that was for the future to decide.

Brainless didn't seem to do any planning, he just followed existing patterns, and dealt with any problems in ways Brains had dealt with them previously. Brains did admit he wasn't too good at planning, himself, unless prodded into it. Brainless did seem to be able to deal with new situations, such as being faced with a double in the form of Brains, but his approaches lacked originality. Though, Brains guessed, they often seemed to show a streak of dark humour, which he had to admit he recognised.

Basic model making and painting seemed to be within his abilities, and he worked with a attention to detail, that Brain didn't feel he could always manage himself. He also seemed to be a workable engineer and programmer, though lacking 'flare'.

"Yes", he said out loud. "I think this is workable."

  
  


### Day Trip

**Before Spring, 2008, UK/Moon.**

The rain had been bad, this late [Winter](http://www.metoffice.gov.uk/climate/uk/2008/winter.html). Brains remembered when even the UK's erratic climate could be pretty confident of a cold Winter. Global warming, he guessed.

While the rain was annoying, it did have the advantage of putting-off people who might visit the disused airfield, over which he'd moored his invisible spaceship. He'd spent quite a bit of time, on the ground, in his personally invisible wheelchair, protected from wind and weather by forcefield. Looking, with both naked eye and binoculars, to see if his ship might might be spotted, say by bird watchers.

Eventually he'd moved it higher, a compromise between not leaving a rain shadow, and his fear of low-flying aircraft. Fortunately no kite flyers, or model aircraft enthusiasts, had run into it. Though, he'd had to tweak the forcefields to dissuade birds from perching there.

At nearly 20 feet in diameter and more than 65 feet long it, he supposed he should say 'she', couldn't be left just anywhere, even with invisibility. He'd come up with a fancy Japanese name, for the launch christening, but been using "SS Champ" (for 'champion') as 'work boat' just didn't seem enough.

Fighting quirks all Winter. Twice he'd ripped-out several days work on major subsystems, had a re-think, and started again. He knew there'd be some quirks, it was the nature of handwavium, but he wanted to be sure they were ones he could easily live with. Certainly nothing involving prayers to [Murphy](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murphy%27s_law), or loud music to distract Eris, just to ensure things kept functioned.

Yesterday he'd finished [Uran](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uran_%28manga_character%29), then spent several hours getting to know her. He guessed she was the little sister he'd never had, wrapped-up in a 1m tall robot body. Today was final checks on the ship, finishing those little jobs that always got put off till the last minute. Uran being distracted by his manga and graphic novel collection; had he hid all the 'adult' ones?

He'd learned a lot building 'Champ', far more than throwing-together the 20-foot 'work horse', the "SS Gee Gee", Uran called her. As planned, enough room to put one in the hold of the other.

**\---**

The launch party. A fortunately clear morning, though rain looked likely, later. He'd put a temporary railed platform, around the central top airlock hatch, cloaked by a portable invisibility screen.

"You mean I can really launch the ship?", Uran was almost beside herself. Brainless mumbled something, probably impolite, from where he'd wedged himself in the corner of the platform. He'd only come under protest, but Brains thought it a good test run for taking him to the upcoming Eastercon.

"Yes", and Brains handed her a piece of paper. She squinted at it, briefly, then stepped forwards, clutching the miniature champagne bottle, all 200ml of it. "I name this ship the 'SS Shuroyoku', and may Murphy bless all who sail in her!", and she broke the bottle, first time, on the invisible hull.

Then, she knelt-down, and kissed it. "But, you'll always be the 'SS Champ' to me!" Brains gently slapped himself on the forehead. "Just a load of over-ritualized nonsense", muttered Brainless, loud enough to get a glare from Brains.

"Right, tidy up, then back home to pack some lunch, for me." Brains handed a dustpan and brush to Uran, and she carefully swept-up the debris of the bottle, before wind and rain did its own sweeping. "Can I keep these?" "OK", replied Brains, "But let me make them up into some sort of display, for you. I know you can't cut yourself on them, but others might."

**\---**

They'd taken it slow out of the atmosphere, a full half-hour, but once in space they'd flashed straight to the Moon, then around to the Far Side. The lack of view-ports made Uran impatient, even though she was connected, by her built-in comms suite, to the ship's scanners, and saw far more than Brains did on the wrap-around view-screen. "I bet I could modify these to use some sort of fibre-optic semi-direct feed, for emergencies", thought Brains.

They weren't doing any real navigation, just point-and-fly, but the ship was fast enough, with enough safety features, that Brains thought this wouldn't be a problem. Even Brainless seemed quiet, which Brains chose to take in a positive way.

The landing on the Moon, after following Brains map to the crater he owned, was almost an anticlimax. Brains flew out and down in his wheelchair, followed by Uran, who carried an unprotected Brainless in his wheelchair. Brains generously paused, to let Uran put her foot to ground first, for which he was repaid with a wide smile.

They looked around, at the crisp blackness, the untwinkling stars, the sharp shadows. Brains very faintly tasted gunpowder. "Maybe my forcefield isn't as impermeable as I thought?", he mused.

Uran experimented with some bounce walking, then turned to Brains, and her lips moved. "Hmph", thought Brains, "Obviously no sound, as no air. But, I've nothing to talk to her built-in communicator. Clever".

Brainless sat back, arms folded, but every so often looked around, when he thought the others weren't looking at him.

After maybe half-an-hour, Brains went back into the airlock, and brought out his surveying tools. A combination of traditional hard tech, and a waved toy science tricoder, told him what he thought he needed to finish the house plans.

Back in the ship they just sat for a while. Brainless read ["Explorers on the Moon"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Explorers_on_the_Moon), the Tintin book published in 1954, the year before Brains was born. But, Brains didn't think his heart was in it. Even Uran was a bit quiet.

After a while she remarked, "So, we'll be living here, full-time, by the end of the Spring? Just a few months? I was only born the day before yesterday, but that seems a big change. Are you sure?"

"Yes." And even Brainless looked up at his strong statement.

"If we don't go now they'll make it illegal. I promised Dad, before he died, that I wouldn't break the law without a really good reason."

"If you want to take a trip back to Earth, I'm sure we'll figure out a way. But, I, we, need to be here."

He grinned. "After all, my friends always tell me I'm a lunatic."

 


End file.
